


Since Eve Ate Apples

by Callisto



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Holidays, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Will you stop that? Wake the bloody dead you would.”</i></p><p><i>And there was always the ever sunny Raymond Doyle, of course. Lump of his life and currently glaring at him from under the covers. Covers which Doyle had nicked completely that morning, forcing Bodie to either rise and get warm, or stay and cajole his way back in. His stomach had growled and settled the argument for him.</i></p><p>A sequel to 'Time Will Tell'. Doyle is now out of his coma and the lads are on a much-deserved holiday in Bognor Regis..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since Eve Ate Apples

_All human history attests  
That happiness for man - the hungry sinner!  
Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.  
-Lord Byron, The Island-_

Carrier bag in hand, Bodie crunched his way across the gravel. The hippy couple from the only other occupied caravan in the small camping ground were nowhere to be seen, and nothing but a cat was out and about. He looked across and saw the sun rising nicely out on the horizon, and it was above a sea actually trying to sparkle. He paused on the bluff and squinted out at this rather inspiring morning in Bognor Regis. Years spent in Liverpool, London and various global fleshpots had taught him to be deeply suspicous of times like this. For every misty-eyed urge a view brought on to quote Byron at it, experience had taught him there was inevitably a cowpat somewhere around the corner, just waiting for your unsuspecting foot... Still, the caravan was a cracker--much bigger and more comfortable than Doyle and his mate had wound him up to believe--and Bognor itself was proving to have a fabulous line in relaxed pubs, cheerful inhabitants and sea front arcades and chippies which stretched for miles.

Against every natural instinct years of city life had seeped into him, Bodie breathed in a lungful of bracing sea air. And another.

He was whistling as he mounted the three steps to the caravan’s door.

 

“Will you stop that? Wake the bloody dead you would.”

And there was always the ever sunny Raymond Doyle, of course. Lump of his life and currently glaring at him from under the covers. Covers which Doyle had nicked completely that morning, forcing Bodie to either rise and get warm, or stay and cajole his way back in. His stomach had growled and settled the argument for him.

So Bodie was having none of it. As rumpled and inviting as Doyle looked, the sea was still sparkling somewhere behind them, and he hadn’t walked a mile and a half for nothing. “Come on you. Up. Got rolls and pasties here, some of that pongy cheese you like, orange juice and some more milk for tea.”

“‘M not hungry.”

“Ray, you have to eat, mate. The doctor said—”

“Don’t fucking go on, Bodie. I’m not twelve, you’re not my mum, and I’ll eat when I’m good and ready!”

And with that, Doyle’s head disappeared with a bad-tempered thump back onto his pillow and the covers went right up with him.

 _Christ, it was like living with a six-year-old._

“Fine, suit your own sweet self as per, Doyle. Don’t mind anybody else, will you?” Bodie yanked the small fridge door open. He jammed in the milk and fruit juice, and threw the cheese on the shelf. Taking great delight, he then walloped the fridge door shut, swiped both pasties and headed out the door. Which he wished was heavier and made more than an annoying click when he walloped that shut too.

 

Half way through the second pasty Bodie slowed down. It was stupid to let Doyle give him indigestion. He chewed more slowly, swallowed, and leaned back on the small bench he’d stopped at on top of the bluff. Stretching his arms out across the back of it, he contemplated a cat contemplating his pasty.

“Go on, then.” Bodie broke off a piece and threw it onto the grass. Small cats and grotty six year olds, what would his first platoon sergeant think if he could see him now? He broke off another piece and dropped it as the cat ventured closer. He put his right hand down and was rather surpised to hear a purr when he stroked down its ginger back. He did it again and found himself smiling. At least someone was grateful for his efforts.

Not that he would keep his anger for long. He never had been able to, not even in the early days, when he’d thought Doyle the most arrogant, insufferable bloke he’d ever come across. And since Doyle had pitched off a scaffold and into a three day coma, he was managing it even less. His partner was, quite naturally, testing that theory to its limits at times.

Bodie knew a lot of it was frustration. Doyle was healing well and this extra week off, where he could do so in stretches of quiet daylight hours, was helping considerably. But he still tired more quickly than he had patience for, was a tad wheezy if he did too much, and, most importantly--and bewilderingly—-to Bodie, was completely off his food.

Hence the snap.

Hence the soft-hearted trek that extra half mile to the corner shop that sold the cheese Bodie knew Doyle liked but rarely bought.

The last of the second pasty gone, Bodie stretched his legs back out in front of him and thought about re-entering the lion’s den for a cup of tea. He tilted his head back in the sunshine and reflected that his stomach could really wait for once. Doyle wasn’t the only one on a much needed holiday and he was no mood for round two this early in the day. A minute or two passed and then behind him came the snick of a door, an unmistakeable sniff, and footsteps crunching carefully through the gravel. In the mood or not, it seemed that round two was on its way over...

“Here. Brought you your tea.”

...or maybe not.

He reached out a hand to take the proffered mug, but Doyle didn’t let go. Bodie looked up sharply.

“Sorry,” said Doyle. “I forget. It’s not your fault I’m not hungry.”

In a clean white T-shirt and his jeans, Doyle looked far fresher than Bodie felt. He nodded, and was allowed to take his tea. Side by side they sat and sipped and Bodie wondered who would speak first. Then Doyle slurped loudly. Twice. And Bodie knew that was his cue. Unwilling, but unable to resist, he turned his head and tried not to smile as a third, deliberate slurp sounded out.

“What?” asked Doyle, turning to him with his mug stilled in all innocence.

“You, you farm animal. It’s not a trough, Doyle.”

“Appreciation, my son. Tastes better like that.”

Said with such solemnity that Bodie had no choice but to chuckle and shake his head. He finished his tea and put the empty mug down carefully on the bench to his left. Doyle was to his right, patting the empty paper bag.

“Where’s the other pasty? You never-”

“Meet Tiddles, mate. Doyle, Tiddles, Tiddles, Doyle.”

The cat had moved off a little upon Doyle’s arrival. It was currently washing its paws and regarding the pair of them with scant interest.

“I suppose I deserved that.”

“You did.”

It came out sharply, and another moment of quiet descended. Then a sliding pressure on the top of his right leg drew Bodie’s eyes to the hand Doyle had placed there.

“Whatever you want to do today, Bodie. Anything you fancy.”

Fully aware of what that smile and the accompanying squeeze were supposed to convey, Bodie studied the face before him and enjoyed the moment to its fullest. Revenge would be his after all. He slid his arm across the back of the bench, and leaned close enough to smell Doyle’s toothpaste. He blew some curls aside, kissed his ear and enjoyed the shiver. Then he whispered:

“Dominoes. On the pier. Loser buys dinner.”

His reflexes were fast. Fast enough to duck the half-strangled curse and cuff Doyle aimed at him. But not fast enough for poor Tiddles, whose tail he stood on, and whose electric howl shattered the early morning calm as it shot into the air at speed. Doyle laughed hard and long, almost sliding off the bench at one point. Bodie joined in for once, letting himself enjoy the ridicule at his expense. Only Doyle was around to see, so what did it matter? Then Doyle began coughing and Bodie stepped forward to thump him smartly on the back. Doyle hiccuped to a halt and glared up with watery eyes.

“I’m not chewing anything! What’re you thumping me for?”

“Enough hilarity at my expense, Raymond. Time and dominoes wait for no man.”

He extended his hand down and pulled Doyle to his feet, taken aback when Doyle used the opportunity to put his left hand around Bodie’s waist and keep them there.

“I’m all right, Bodie.”

Bodie studied the pale, serious face inches from his own. He heard the reassurance meant for him and him alone, felt the heat from that hand through his shirt, and wondered how he had ever thought this man would be a part-time affair. He flicked Doyle’s nose with his finger. “Never been all right a day in your life, sunshine.”

They stood there a moment longer, smiling, one at the other. Doyle’s hand was still on his waist, his mouth tantalisingly close, and Bodie was once again in a maddening pull to sway forward. A hospital bed, the Capri, his flat, Doyle’s sofa...it didn’t matter anymore, his world could narrow to the two of them in a thumbstroke.

“Doyle...” His cords were beginning to hurt. Which was fine if they were headed back in to the caravan, but not otherwise.

“I know, I know, we’ll frighten the hippies. And Tiddles.” Bodie got a brush of lips across his mouth anyway, and a fleeting palm across his groin. “We’ll frighten them later, yeah?”

“Scare the pants of them, sunshine. Scouts bloody honour.”

******

“Broccoli.”

“Eh?” Bodie had his mouth around a 99 and was trying to save the entire flake till last, so he wasn’t really paying attention.

The day had gone pretty well. They’d lost an hour or two in the arcades on the front, but they did that every day. Bodie had fed his usual avalanche of ten pences into a Penny Falls while Doyle had cautiously fed the two pence machines - only to crow insufferably when he’d ended up winning more back than Bodie. Bodie had redressed the balance nicely by thrashing Doyle at air hockey, and had promptly rewarded himself with candyfloss and a hot dog for lunch. Doyle had picked at some oversweet popcorn, and then they had ranged far and wide on the shore with the rest of the late August holidaymakers. Out of practice at truly being off duty and on holiday, neither had thought to pack swimwear of any kind. So they’d watched a few brave souls paddle in, made rude comments about the costumes on display, and then thrown wet sand at each other and hared off along the shore. Back at the pier finally, and it had started to spit with rain just as they’d settled on a bench. They’d held out, because as Bodie felt bound to point out, it was a long bloody pier and they were right at the very end. But the rain had showed no signs of letting up and Doyle had coughed once or twice. So Bodie had declared he wanted a pint and an early dinner and pulled Doyle up and along to the nearest pub. Which apparently had inspired his partner to start spouting nonsense.

“There’s some on that board over there and I can smell it.”

“’S all right, officer, I’ll keep him talking, someone must be looking for him. What _are_ you on about?”

“You keep asking me about food, what I want to eat. Well, I fancy broccoli. There’s broccoli quiche written on that board over there.”

Bodie squinted through the people slowly filling the place up. Tourists mostly, couples and families, shaking themselves out of kagools like wet dogs and looking up at the same board. An early dinner, it seemed, was suddenly on everyone’s mind. Bodie licked the last bit of chocolate off his thumb and gave Doyle his full attention. “Fancy the lamb hot-pot meself...what?”

“Nothing, you gannet. Just get up there and get us something to eat.”

Said with such indulgent affection that Bodie forget to either grumble or ask for any money. Must be love, he reflected wryly as he waited at the bar. Then he turned a full-watt smile on the barmaid and placed their order. It turned out he needed more than his smile. The last piece of quiche had been ordered, so he had no choice but to pull out all the stops. The charm came as effortlessly as ever - the flirt, the game, it was all still there, all still enjoyable. As he reeled in the barmaid and the quiche, he knew in his bones he could have both of them on a plate that day if he wished. He also knew in his bones he didn’t want either one. And that knowledge made his smile wider, his charm stronger and his confidence even greater. Smiling into the eyes of a pretty barmaid and wanting nothing more than a plate of broccoli out of her would do him just fine. And why not? It was right up there with holding Doyle’s hand and stumbling around suntan lotion as a declaration of intent. Bodie smiled at the memory and missed something the barmaid was trying to whisper to him. Bodie had learned long ago to take confirmations of life, love and order in whatever form the universe chose to throw at him. The one he had before him now actually made more sense than anything else had in a very, very long time.

When she offered up her number, as he'd known she would, he ran his finger down her nose and told her with absolute truth that she was the prettiest thing he’d seen in a while, but he was just not available for the forseeable future.

“You took your time.”

Bodie arrived back and slid a pint of bitter in front of his partner and took the chair opposite.

“Amorous barmaid. Name’s Shirley.”

“Yeah?” You had to know Doyle really well to catch the hesitation. “Just your type.”

“Doyle?”

“What?”

Bodie’s heart warmed to hear that stroppy note. He tried hard not to smile. “Your trees are coming.”

“My what?”

“Trees. I had an Auntie Rita, she lived in the posh part of town and we didn’t see her much. Anyway, she put broccoli down in front of me once - I was about six, I think. Apparently I ate it and then asked mum why we were never given trees at home.” Doyle started to chuckle; it was always easy to distract him with nuggets from Bodie’s childhood. “Straight up. Mum was mortified.”

“Yeah, and I bet you’ve never eaten brocc-

“Trees.”

“-trees since, have you?”

“Too green, mate. Never trust something that green.”

******

Hours later and they were back in the caravan, and that hesitation was hovering over Doyle like a cloud refusing to descend. It hurt Bodie inexplicably to see Doyle unsure of himself. He always thought he’d fall on his knees in thanks the day Doyle had some of that cocksure attitude taken out of him, but now he found it had no place in bed between the two of them.

Bodie’s head swam as his mouth was taken in another rolling kiss. How he had stayed away from someone who could kiss like that was one for wiser men than he. He kicked the sheet down the bed and let Doyle push him over onto his back. Just like that the kiss stopped. He opened his eyes and Doyle was above him, breathing heavily, erection still pulsing against his own even though all movement had stopped.

“Ray?”

When he got no answer, he laid an open plam on Doyle’s right cheek and swept his thumb under that eye, absurdly moved to see Doyle turn into it for a second. If anything, the look on Doyle’s face then got fiercer, as his eyes mapped every contour of Bodie’s face.

Bodie opened his mouth, uncomfortable by the scrutiny. Doyle cut him off.

“This is it for me, Bodie.” It was almost a whisper. Doyle pressed his forehead down onto Bodie’s and let it rest there. “No more birds, no more games.” He raised his head. “You don’t have to say the same. I don’t fucking want you to, not if you don’t mean it.”

“And if I do?” Bodie brought both hands up this time to frame that troubled face. He held Doyle still.

“There’ll be other barmaids, Bodie. I saw you. And her.”

“You saw. What did you see? You saw your hard working partner trying to get the last slice of broccoli quiche for the man he loves. That’s what you bloody saw, you daft git.” Bodie let his words take root, felt the weight of their importance slowly stretch the muscles under his hands into a smile. He had never said that so deliberately, never meant it quite so much.

“You mean...?”

Enough.

“You know exactly what I mean, you toe-rag.” He moved Doyle off him, and brought him around until they lay face to face on their sides, cocks rubbing together. “Stop fishing.” Bodie kissed him and slid a hand down his back. Very little head room above the caravan bed had made them creative, and Bodie pulled Doyle in a little more, tongue deep in his mouth, hands full of his arse. Christ, but Ray could _move_ when he wanted to...

Bodie groaned when Doyle broke free of the kiss. He went for Bodie’s right nipple, licking and twisting it with his teeth while his hand worked down between their bodies.

“Bodie?”

Doyle had his hand around both of their cocks, slowing things down yet again. As Bodie opened heavy eyes and glanced down, Doyle slowly moved his hand again. Then he leaned in and kissed Bodie, hard and fervent. “I promise to make this good for you, mate. Always.” Another kiss, deep and wet. Then it was Doyle’s turn to groan. Bodie tore out of the kiss and put two of his fingers into Doyle’s mouth instead, loving the swirl of Doyle’s tongue as he sucked and pulled them.

“And I promise something ’n all,” he said breathlessly. Doyle’s hand began to move faster and his own moistened fingers slid home with practised ease, jolting Doyle towards him as they found his prostate.

“Yeah? What do you... Jesus, Bodie... I can’t...”

Doyle’s mouth found his again, and coherent thought fled as their bodies simply took over. It was the whimper that Ray eventually made, right into Bodie’s mouth while Bodie was twisting his fingers deep inside him. That was the sound which made Bodie come. He arched his hips, pumping fantically into the hand and cock surrounding him, sure that he was exploding from the toes up. Doyle kept his grip through it all, then spasmed mightily as Bodie’s fingers drove home for the last time.

By the time Bodie was capable of a thought again, he and the bed had both been seen to with tissues. Doyle was stretched out next to him with his head on Bodie’s right shoulder and his right arm lay heavy and lax across Bodie’s ribs.

“You can finish your sentence now.”

Bodie blinked. Then he remembered. He gathered Doyle in a little closer. “I promise to only flirt for food from this day on. Scout’s honour.”

The chuckle into his shoulder was deep throated and utterly relaxed, so Bodie pulled the sheet up over them both and let himself drift. He knew he’d fixed something that night, but was in no state to quite figure out what. No matter, Doyle was snuffling into his collarbone, Tiddles was mewing outside, the hippies were listening to something mellow, and he didn’t have to trek anywhere for breakfast tomorrow.

Life was good.

*******


End file.
